


I love...

by JoKessho



Category: Digimon - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 21:52:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11975778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoKessho/pseuds/JoKessho
Summary: Taichi contemplates his and Yamato's relationship. Not much else to say. Taito TaiYama





	I love...

**Author's Note:**

> Well...... This story took a totally unexpected turn; it was supposed to be a short drabble based on the quote below, but seems like the story had a mind of its own... Dialogue is my forte, so this is totally different from my usual style. Please let me know what you think!

_For if you’re not afraid, how can you be really brave? –Tove Jansson_

-o-o-o-

I really appreciate Yamato.

Not just because he’s now my best friend, but because he used to be my rival.

Don’t get me wrong; I used to hate him for always arguing with me. We fought like cats and dogs, often getting physical and really hurting each other.

Occasionally we do still fight, but they’re not as lengthy as they used to be. These days we realise when we’re in the wrong and why the other is telling us that we’re being an asshole. For example, I’ll say something inconsiderate and Yamato will immediately snap at me and tell me I’m an idiot. Sometimes I will try to defend myself (in vain) for a bit, but soon come to the conclusion that, yes, Yamato is right and I’m being an inconsiderate jerk. I apologise to whoever was offended and then everyone’s happy. This works the other way round, too.

We both realise that we have our flaws and faults and that the other person completes us. Yamato’s the thinker, the one who will consider all options and everyone’s feelings, but sometimes he thinks too long and the opportunity passes. I’m the hothead - the one who ploughs on without considering others or other options and I make decisions as soon as the opportunity presents itself. But sometimes I make the wrong move. In that way, we really complete each other; we balance each other out. Together we are unstoppable.

Back to what I was discussing in the beginning: why I appreciate Yamato for always having fought with me back in the Digital World. Well, it’s easy to be a good leader if everyone follows you like sheep, right? If everyone just goes along with whatever you say, then of course you’d be a good leader. Just like it’s easy to be courageous if you’re not afraid of anything. But I, of all people, know that courage is not the same as not being afraid. Real courage is facing your fears. Just like being a good leader entails facing criticism.

And, boy, did Yamato criticise! It really pissed me off. But now, as I said, I appreciate it. It’s made me a better person and leader. His arguments forced me to defend my own opinion, teaching me how to stand up for my beliefs in the face of adversity.

He made my skin thicker.

He made me stronger.

Now I want to be his strength.

We started dating last week.

Some homophobes from our high school found out and, naturally, now the whole school knows. No one dares to approach us physically (Yama and I are well-known for our fighting abilities), but we get a lot of hate in the corridors.

Yamato taught me how to face this kind of criticism. I never returned the favour...

Sure, he knows how to take a punch and some harsh words, but, at the same time, he’s more sensitive than I am and others’ opinions of him do affect him on a deeper level. He doesn’t let it show, but I know that, currently, he’s like a ticking time-bomb – I don’t know when he’ll break, but I want to be there for him.

I can see it happening already: him finally cracking and telling me all his deepest fears, and me countering all his arguments. Just like in the Digital World. Only this time we’re not rivals or arguing; he’ll probably be crying and I won’t be an inconsiderate prick.

I want to be there for him. To be his strength. To give back some of the strength he forced upon me five years ago.

I look to him now, sitting there, in class, one row to my right and two seats forward.

Is he thinking about those comments from earlier? Is he trying to focus on his work in order to drown out negative thoughts? Is he sending me silent pleas to ask him about it?

He’s looking at me. Maybe he _is_ asking me to approach him about it.

Wait.

He’s giving me a strange look and jabbing his head minutely towards the front of the cl—Shit!

The teacher’s staring at me expectantly, looking like she has just asked me something. No idea what it was.

I look to my best friend, wishing that we were in maths, instead of literature, so that the answer would be a simple number, instead of a long, philosophical analysis of something. As expected, Yamato can offer me no help on this matter right now.

Sheepishly, I ask the teacher to repeat the question, but she just sighs in disappointment and turns to another of my classmates for the answer. I tune her out and turn to my boyfriend, giving him a huge grin, both of us knowing that I somehow, miraculously, avoided getting a detention. He just rolls his big blue eyes and returns to his notes.

The rest of the class passes by without incident – a fact which I am grateful for – and we are released from school until tomorrow morning.

I shove my things into my book bag and rush over to Yamato’s desk. He’s putting his things into his bag in a calm and orderly fashion. He cares about the state of his books and papers and has separate folders and notebooks for all his classes, plus the one he writes music notes in every so often.

The Teenage Wolves officially retired from the music business last year, but music is still a sort of outlet for Yamato. He still composes new songs and sings them to me and the rest of the Chosen gang, or just keeps them to himself. I’m glad he has this way of expressing himself; starting a band and writing songs really helped him come out of his shell. He’s even shown me a few songs that he wrote when he was feeling really depressed and there are a few that helped him come to terms with his feelings for me. I’m honoured that he would share those with me.

I watch as he rises from his seat and smiles at me. I love his smile. Back in the Digital World his smile was either sarcastic or exaggerated; he would either smirk, or laugh obnoxiously. It annoyed me so much back then, but now I realise that it was a defence mechanism. Oh, don’t get me wrong, his smirk is all natural. But the laughing wasn’t. It was always to hide something or put up a front for Takeru. He still doesn’t laugh much, but I’ve been lucky enough to have witnessed the few times that he did.

We leave the school, walking close, but not too close. Just because most of the school knows about us doesn’t mean that we need to be constantly reminding them of our closeness. No, it’s best if we confine our relationship to our apartments and, occasionally, the secluded areas of the park at night time.

We reach his apartment. His father’s not home. I pull him over to the sofa and let him snuggle against my chest. I run my hand through his silky, blond locks. I love his hair.

Should I ask him? Would he tell me? Would he allow himself to show weakness already at this stage in our relationship?

My stomach ruins the peaceful moment we’re having and he graces me with one of his rare, soft laughs, offering to make me something to eat. I accept and we make our way to his kitchen.

Ever since he retired from the band, both his kitchen and whole apartment have been spotless. The place used to be a mess, but now that he has time, he is putting his house working skills to good use. Many jokes have been passed about him making the perfect wife for someone, someday, or of him being a household Goddess. He usually just brushes those kinds of things off, taking no offence.

I wrap my arms around his slim waist, pulling his back into my chest, nuzzling his shoulder. He swats at me playfully, telling me that I’ll have to eat off the floor soon. I wouldn’t mind; as I said, his house is nearly spotless. Yet, I let him go and retreat to sit at the kitchen table. I just watch him. I like watching him; he has a certain grace and elegance to his movements, which I admire. He seems to flow seamlessly form one action to another. It looks so effortless.

He’s told me that he likes the way I move. I do wonder about that. He scolds me when I question his statement. He says that I have very good control of my body on the field, when I’m kicking the ball around.

He sets the table whilst waiting for the food to finish cooking. He’s a great cook. Now that he has more time, he has been able to keep the fridge stocked with fresh ingredients and has been able to produce amazing dishes from those.

I’m lucky to have him.

Food appears on the table as I’m lost in my thoughts, but I manage to catch his wrist after he places the last dish on the table. I pull him to me and he has an amused look on his face. I kiss him. Nothing too deep or passionate. But nothing too chaste, either.

A light blush dusts his normally pale cheeks, but his deep blue eyes are bright with happiness. I love making him happy. And if that happens to involve kissing him, then all the better.

We eat in relative silence, mainly because we’ve both been taught not to talk with our mouths full. It doesn’t bother us, though; we’re perfectly comfortable just hanging out in silence. Yamato is very quiet anyway, so I know he doesn’t mind the silence. I like to talk and am known for babbling on and on about mundane things, but I am also comfortable with silence, since I know actions, or just the mere presence of another person, speaks louder than words do.

I’ve learned to read Yamato quite well, I think. I can tell when he just wants to cuddle in silence and when he wants me to fill that silence with inane talk.

He also understands me and my moods better than anyone else. A lot of people think that I wear my heart on my sleeve, showing everyone exactly what I’m feeling. That is the case most of the time, but there are times when I do try to hide behind a mask. Yama is the only one who catches me at this and confronts me about it once we’re alone. Have I mentioned how lucky I am to have him?

I always do the dishes for him. At first he tried to protest, but I convinced him to let me. It’s the least I can do, after all, since he cooks for me. And loves me. I don’t think I can ever truly repay him for loving me. I can try to pamper him and I love him with my whole being, but it doesn’t seem like it comes anywhere close to how much I actually appreciate his love for me. I hope he never leaves me. I don’t think I could stand it.

He grabs a towel and starts drying off the dishes that I’ve washed and rinsed. I tried to get him to let me take care of everything, but he convinced me otherwise by saying that it’ll be faster with him drying. It leaves us with more time together. I was sold.

We retreat back to the couch and my hand immediately shoots into his hair. It’s so addicting. Most of Yamato’s fans would kill to get a chance to even touch his hair. What most of them don’t know is that he doesn’t really take long at all to fix his hair. In fact, he does very little with it; only washing, conditioning, and combing. No gel, no spray, nothing. Sometimes he forgets to comb his hair, but it’s so silky that no one really notices. Besides, it’s usually only on days when we’re together and not going out, so I comb it for him with my fingers.

He seems to be falling asleep under my ministrations. Wouldn’t be the first time. I smile at him fondly, not that he can see it.

I think he’s ok. I may have been making mountains out of molehills. He’s strong. He’s faced criticism for his music, so what’s a little homophobia?

I look at the peaceful figure in my lap.

How did I ever doubt his strength? He’s already had to endure so much in life – a few negative comments from peers won’t phase him.

He gives a big sigh and opens his eyes, gazing deeply into mine, as if to tell me that he’ll be fine – that he is fine.

His pale hand comes up to cup the back of my head. He pulls me down for a kiss.

Even if he does crack – I catch myself thinking – I’ll be there for him.

We pull apart. A lazy, contented smile is splayed on his lips.

“I love you.” I whisper.


End file.
